Is it my furrowed brow?
Is it my confused stare?
Perhaps it's the shard of mirror
angled through my gray matter.
And maybe it is the gray matter.
A giant walked the earth,
saddened by miniatures
swarming around his feet.
His tears watered their soil
and his feces fed the ground
that fed their family's faces.
It was by his will only that they
existed
because it was his will that he not
obliterate.
He was kind and gentle
but unwilling to protect
forever.
Sad-eyed giant of circumstance,
desperately needing to be needed.
When will you exercise that
massive will inside your soul?
The pain of the paralyzed.
Fuck you, James Joyce...
Maybe I'd have been better
if I hadn't ever known it...
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